


Lean on Me

by janescott



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-12
Updated: 2010-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Uhm ... bruised!Tommy :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by i_bleed_magenta  
> Disclaimer: Nothing herein belongs to me

"Oh my God, _finally,_" Adam says as Tommy closes the hotel room door, snicking the lock.

He leans against the door, sagging a little. It had seemed to take far too long to get from the airport to here, and all Tommy wants to do is – "Oh," he says faintly as Adam crowds him against the door, sliding his hands under his top and pressing his fingertips on the fading bruises over Tommy's hipbones.

Tommy's breath hitches as he feels the press of Adam's hands on his skin; and he can feel himself get hard as Adam brings out the ache in the bruises.

"Adam ..." Tommy breathes out, pushing his hands through Adam's hair. Adam pulls at Tommy's hoodie, pushing it up until Tommy raises his hands above his head, and it's discarded on the floor. Adam runs his hands gently over Tommy's body, his mouth resting on the racing pulse-point in Tommy's neck. He scrapes his teeth over it lightly and Tommy knows that Adam wants to _bite_ and to _mark_, but Adam moves on, kissing a slow path down Tommy's chest and flat stomach.

Tommy puts his hands flat against the door, the wood cool under his palms as Adam settles on his knees, brushing his fingers over Tommy's bruised hips, his hipbones jutting out over his low-riding jeans. Adam's lips - lush and sinful - are already parted. Tommy just watches, his eyes hooded as Adam unzips his jeans and slowly – too slowly – pulls out Tommy's hard cock.

Adam sucks cock like ... Tommy can't think of a good way to describe it; words aren't really his thing. Adam takes his _time_. Tommy watches, his fingers digging into the door behind him as he does his best to stay upright. Adam takes Tommy's cock in slowly, inch by torturous inch, and all Tommy can do is stare as Adam's mouth - fucking _made_ for cocksucking - stretches wide and obscene, his blue eyes intent on Tommy's face.

Tommy pushes forward, a small shallow thrust of his hips that he can't stop himself from making, and he nearly bites through his bottom lip when Adam pushes him back against the door, his hands hot and ruthless on Tommy's skin. "Uh," escapes Tommy's throat, a bare whisper, because he's forgotten how to fucking _talk_ with Adam's mouth - wide and wet and so fucking _hot_ slowly moving up and down his cock. Tommy tastes blood on his bottom lip at the same time as he carefully pushes one hand away from the door, needing - now - to _touch_, pushing his hand through the thick, black strands of Adam's hair, the colour a sharp contrast to Tommy's pale skin as he winds it through his fingers.

Adam swallows Tommy's cock, suddenly, taking it all in and closing his eyes, not moving for a second; humming a low vibration around the head and Tommy would swear it feels like he's halfway down Adam's throat. Adam draws his mouth back again, and Tommy watches his cock - slick with saliva now - reappear inch by inch. He takes his other hand off the door, and touches the side of Adam's mouth, feeling it slick-wet and so _stretched_. "Oh, fuck, Adam ..." he says, his voice so ragged it feels like he's been the one giving the blow job.

Adam just smirks and swallows Tommy's cock again, so fucking slow that Tommy thinks he's going to go out of his mind. He shifts his hands carefully, pressing them over Adam's hands, laying over Tommy's bruised hips. He moans then, louder, pinned against the door, and the slight soreness raising from the bruises, and Adam fucking - _licking_ his cock now, is too much and Tommy comes, hard, his breath panting and ragged as he watches Adam's cheeks hollow as he swallows, his eyes half-closed.

Tommy slumps against the door, drained. Adam strips his own shirt off and shoves at his zipper with a frantic, graceless movement. Tommy slides to the floor, reaching out almost lethargically, as Adam shuffles closer, his cock - long and thick and fucking _perfect_ \- stands up flushed and hard. Tommy wraps one hand around Adam's cock and begins jerking, deliberately pressing his callouses into the sensitive flesh and groaning when Adam does bite him on the neck - low so it could be hidden by a shirt, but thoroughly - ruthlessly sucking out a red angry mark that makes Tommy's spent cock twitch.

He feels Adam stiffen - his whole body locking - before he's coming, spilling over Tommy's hand and his stomach. They manage to get their pants off then, discarding them on the hotel room floor, before crawling on to the bed. Tommy idly licks at his fingers and Adam's stomach, lightly peppered with scattered, faint bruises that are hard to distinguish among the freckles, pushing the slightly bitter-salt taste of Adam's come around his mouth.

Tommy idly nips at the soft skin around Adam's hips, hearing a grumble. "Not there. You know how I feel - " Tommy cuts off Adam's words with a sharp bite, sinking his teeth in hard. "Shut up," he says, straddling Adam and leaning down for a long, filthy kiss. "You are not fat. Anywhere."

Adam pushes up, rocking his hips slightly, and Tommy grins, wicked and sudden and rare. "We're in Mexico. You know what that means, right?"

"Uh ... sex on the beach?" Adam asks raising his eyebrows hopefully. Tommy laughs as there's a knock at the door. "You boys coming out of your room any time soon?" Sutan calls through the locked door. "Me and Jake are going down by the pool. Come join us when you can drag yourselves apart, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy calls back. "We'll be down ... later." They hear Sutan laugh as he walks away, saying something about oversexed boys in Mexico being dangerous.

"Being in Mexico means ..." Adam prompts, sliding his hands over Tommy's back, resting them on the slight curve of his ass.

"Body shots," Tommy says, reaching for the room phone and ordering tequila, lime, salt and food, dropping the phone carelessly in its cradle as Adam pushes a hand through his fringe, pulling him down.

Tommy's flushed and breathing hard when the food and booze arrive. He pulls on his jeans and snags a tip from Adam's wallet, giving him the finger when he protests, as he pulls the sheet up over his naked body. Tommy tips the attendant and rolls the tray into the room, grinning.

They eat on the bed, Tommy careless with some kind of spicy sauce that drips down his fingers. He licks the sauce off slowly, his eyes on Adam's face. Tommy puts a little more work into it, poking out his tongue and sliding it up his finger, sucking the tip lightly and pulling it out with a pop.

He smirks a little bit when Adam strokes down his cock – fully hard again – and picks up the salt shaker from the tray, deliberately sprinkling some near Adam's hip; the spot that Adam is most sensitive about. Biting his lip, Tommy fills the two shot glasses and rests them on Adam's stomach, saying, "Don't move," before licking at the salt in a leisurely stripe, Adam's skin soft and yielding under his tongue.

Tommy holds back a moan – barely – as Adam tightens his grip on his cock again and the shot glasses shake a little. Tommy picks one up with his mouth – stretching it around the rim before tilting his head back and swallowing, the alcohol a cold burn in the back of his throat. He picks up a lime wedge and sucks on it hard enough that juice from the tart fruit runs down his chin.

Adam growls a little, low in the back of his throat before he picks up the other glass, tossing back the shot, and somehow Tommy finds himself flat on his back on the bed, Adam's tongue hot and impatient, licking up the juice, his teeth worrying at Tommy's jaw as he works Tommy's jeans open, pushing them down his legs. Tommy scrambles to kick them off, and they're soon in a heap on the floor beside the bed.

"You know" Tommy says, a little breathless, "This isn't how you do body -_oh_." Adam picks up the salt and sprinkles it over Tommy's neck, licking the tiny grains away in slow torturous flicks, before reaching for the bottle on the floor beside the bed, taking a quick swallow. Adam picks up a lime wedge and, poking out his tongue, slowly squeezes, letting the juice drip down. Tommy doesn't remember moving, but suddenly he's right there, sucking the taste of alcohol and sour lime off Adam's tongue and scratching at his neck as Adam's hands tighten on his ass.

Tommy rolls over and scrabbles at Adam's bag, pulling out a condom and lube as Adam covers him with his large, searing-hot body. "Stay like that," he rumbles against Tommy's neck - sweating now despite the air-conditioned room - and Tommy splays out on his front, biting back a groan when his hard cock rubs against the sheets that stick to his skin.

Adam just laughs, and it sounds like fucking _sin_ to Tommy as it reverberates through his body. "Adam ... come on ..." and Tommy can't begin to care that he sounds like he's nearly begging.

Adam's lube-slick fingers are a cool contrast to his overheated skin, and Tommy shivers when the first one slides in, slow and teasing at first, until Tommy rolls back on to it, impatient. "More," he says, his teeth gritted and one hand wrapped desperately around the base of his cock, squeezing. "Please. _More_."

Adam sucks out a hard, quick mark at the base of Tommy's neck, sliding another finger in and stretching him open, still moving too fucking slow, but all Tommy can do is rock his hips back, fucking himself on Adam's fingers, one hand still on his cock, the other fisted tight in the sheets.

Adam breathes out a quick "fuck," against Tommy's neck, dirty and low before pulling his fingers out and rolling the condom on. Tommy bites his lip hard, tasting blood again, as Adam pushes in – slow, but steadily, wordlessly pulling Tommy on to his hands and knees so he can curl his hands around Tommy's hips, biting deep into the bruises and teeth marks.

Tommy moans and starts stroking in time to Adam's thrusts that turn fast and hard quickly, a pounding rhythm that makes Tommy want to just collapse on the bed and get fucked by Adam forever. He hears himself gasping and he knows he's close, saying in a ragged voice, "Adam, Adam I -" and he doesn't even fucking _care_ that it's going to be over embarrassingly fast as he feels his orgasm build, any words he might have had shattering and splintering as he comes, hard and fast.

Adam's hands are ruthless and tight on his hips, building bruises on bruises and Tommy wants to press his hands over them again, so they can't fade. He curls his fists into the sheets instead, panting and hot as Adam bites down hard on his neck suddenly, his hard thrusts erratic as he comes, his breath scorching on Tommy's skin.

"Jesus," Tommy says weakly as Adam pulls out, discarding the knotted condom on the floor.

"Uh huh," Adam says, his voice muffled from where he's collapsed on his front on the bed beside Tommy.

Tommy runs a hand up Adam's arm; too hot now to get any closer, but wanting to touch. Adam turns his head and smiles, lazy and sweet, his eyes hooded and sleepy-looking.

Tommy rolls to his back after a bit, reaching for the bottle of tequila discarded on the nightstand and takes a quick drink, wincing at the cold burn.

"Gimme," Adam says lazily, rolling to his side as Tommy passes him the bottle.

The break – too short – passes in a haze of sunshine and alcohol; fucking and fun.  
Cabo turns into _home_ and home turns into New York for the concert with Kris and Allison. Tommy thinks he'd like to catch up with Allison later, and maybe catch the Burton exhibition with David, but right now all he can care about is Adam plastering him to the door of his dressing room, one strong thigh pressed between Tommy's legs, rocking against his hard cock.

Adam's hands are under Tommy's shirt and Tommy's head is tipped back against the door, his whole world narrowed to _hard_ and _that hurts_ as Adam presses hard against his hips, and _oh God, do that again_ when Adam kneels in front of Tommy long enough to suck out one bright, red mark over his narrow hip, before moving up again, kissing Tommy long and dirty, even as the stage manager knocks on the door to let them know Allison's about to go on.

Tommy adjusts his bass over his still-hard cock right before their own set – they'd watched Allison from the wings, Tommy leaning against Adam's chest, with Adam's hands curled lightly on his hips, pressing in every so often, drawing out a near-silent hitch of breath every time he hit the new mark – and it's all Tommy can do to walk out on stage on steady legs.

His bass feels heavy in his hands but _right_ like it always does as it rubs the rough fabric of his jeans against the marks on his skin. When he leans on Adam – his back to Adam's chest, and Adam slips his hand behind Tommy's bass, thumbing at the new hickey – Tommy damn near comes on stage, but Adam makes it up to him after the show, making vague excuses to catch up with everyone later – they're all going out to some club or something – dragging Tommy by the hand back to his dressing room.

And Tommy should mind being manhandled like that, he supposes, but it just doesn't _matter_. Not when Adam's mouth is on his, and his hands are under his shirt again, looking for new places to mark; or reclaiming favourite spots that make Tommy's breath catch and his hands reach out for Adam of their own accord.


End file.
